The Four Wise Men
by agrippinilla4
Summary: Why four wise men? The First Doctor and his grandchildren consider the question. Could Yonder Star conceivably be aware of their efforts? Referring to the Doctor as Dr Who in this story is deliberate in accordance with the tendency in the 1960's to describe him as such.


'How much longer now before we arrive, Grandfather?' asked Gillian, the hope and excitement she felt fully expressed in the tone of her young voice.

'Some time yet, I believe, child,' responded Dr Who, who was bent over the control panel of his beloved time and space machine, the _Tardis_, intently studying the readings on the netaphoric gauge through his spectacles.

'Will we return to exactly the same place that we first started out from?' enquired John, grandson of the white-haired old Doctor. 'That yard with all the junk?'

Dr Who sniffed. 'Quality second-hand merchandise, if you please.'

'But will we?'

'Yes, yes,' the Doctor replied somewhat testily. He tapped the gauge with a forefinger. 'Theoretically speaking,' he added.

'Theoretically?' pursued John.

Dr Who inserted his thumbs beneath the lapels of his black frock coat in the way he always did prior to delivering a lecture. 'I have extracted from the _Tardis _log the co-ordinates for each of our destinations since you so reprehensibly meddled with the controls in the first place.'

John winced, but said defensively 'So…?'

'I have run them together, reversed them, edited the result by applying a balance of probabilities theory I devised and produced a set of shortcut co-ordinates. In theory, therefore, you are both on your way home.' The Doctor beamed from John to Gillian as if expecting grateful applause.

'Well done, Grandfather,' offered Gillian, unwilling to have her dream shattered and wanting to keep the peace as well.

John, though thinking twice before provocation now, nonetheless ventured a further insertion on the subject with 'It's a bit hit and miss, then?'

Dr Who darted a repressive look at him, opened his mouth to speak, suddenly thought better of it, clamped his mouth shut in the manner of a miser closing a purse and proceeded to make a totally unnecessary adjustment to the controls instead.

Surely, thought John, it wasn't too unreasonable to throw a little bit of doubt on the proceedings in the circumstances. Ever since the old man had declared his purpose, after their memorable encounter with the Pied Piper of Hamelin, of trying for home and attempted to steer the _Tardis _back through time and space to November 1964 on Earth, it had been either near misses, such as their brief visit to the Moon, where they had pipped two confused American astronauts at the post, and after that Eastern Europe, where events had inexplicably unfolded back to front and made it their most peculiar experience yet, or a case of being absolutely way out when they had been transported to the scorched home planet of their very first adversaries, the Kleptons.

Gillian essayed another attempt to smooth things over. 'Grandfather, if we're not going to land yet will you tell us another story?'

'Story?' Dr Who looked at her vaguely, as if he had never heard the word before.

John thought it politic to lend his sister a hand at this stage. 'You told us one a while ago, remember. About what happened at that old orphanage on Christmas Eve.'

'That was a spooky one,' added Gillian, her idea suddenly not seeming to be such a good one after all as she belatedly recalled the nightmare in which a skeletal hand had prised up a floorboard from below and beckoned to her with a bony forefinger…

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, since it brought the accuracy of the Doctor's predictions into question again, the round glass column in the centre of the six-sided control panel began to rise and fall more sedately and the high-pitched grinding noise that indicated materialisation resounded around the control room.

Their latest journey had come to an end.

'There,' said Dr Who. 'I told you it wouldn't be long before we came to rest, didn't I, h'mm?'

John was determinedly tactful now. 'Good show, Grandfather,' he commented, unconsciously drawing on the expressions of Enid Blyton's Famous Five. 'Let's have a look at the scanner-screen,' he suggested.

When a picture depicting abundant greenery appeared it was obvious that wherever this was, it certainly wasn't a back street yard in South London. John smiled inwardly in secret relief, for he was far from anxious to get home and end his travels anyway.

They stepped outside the blue police box. It was Gillian who was a little truculent now as she brushed leaves away from her face. 'I suppose we're slap in the middle of a jungle,' she complained.

John put an arm around her in lieu of spoken consolation. 'Let's take a look around. I'd quite like to explore a good jungle,' he said, rather too brightly.

Gillian rolled her eyes. 'You would,' she muttered, though in truth she was already rising above this latest unintended destination, the result of not inconsiderable practice.

Dr Who removed his spectacles with one hand and fingered a leaf with the other. 'Yes, as I thought. Definitely Earth.' He regarded the children benevolently, apparently well satisfied.

'But Grandfather…' Gillian began.

The Doctor wagged an admonishing forefinger at her. 'Perfection is denied to us all, my child. Think of the vastness of space, the endless corridors of time. What is a modicum of slippage in projected co-ordinates compared to that, h'mm?'

'Nothing at all, Grandfather, is it?' John was moving away from the _Tardis _as he spoke. 'Do you think we are in a jungle?' he went on.

'I think I'll reserve judgement as to that until we have completed, at the very least, a basic exploration of the immediate vicinity,' answered Dr Who, as he and his granddaughter followed John through the trees and bushes.

They soon reached the periphery of what was not, in fact, a jungle but a fair-sized grove. The Doctor drew aside a curtain of obscuring foliage in order to provide them with a view of what lay beyond.

'It's quite a view,' John remarked after some moments, still intent upon making the best of it.

'A view of what, though?' his sister put in rhetorically, gazing doubtfully at the prospect before them.

The uneven ground, sloping gradually downwards from the grove, consisted of dust and scattered stones before levelling out at what might be a track of sorts, its surface looking different, more like hard-packed sand. Intermittent clumps of vegetation, visible on the far side of it, completely lacked the exuberance of nature's offerings in the grove. In the background were hills and valleys, of a dusky yellow flecked with patches of white, with only occasional touches of green. Perhaps, Gillian thought, fanciful all at once, it was a backdrop by an artist who couldn't be bothered to mix any more green paint and had made what he had last. She smiled, pleased and rather cheered by the thought. Yes, he had used all his green on the thick growth they had just pushed their way through…

When they stood on the stony land above the sandy trail Dr Who's eyes fell upon three dark, slender trees, high on a hill quite some distance away to his left and silhouetted against the sky. His gaze continued for some reason to dwell on them. What did the way they were positioned remind him of?

John's voice broke into his thoughts. 'Grandfather…'

The Doctor turned. 'What is it, my boy?'

John leaned forward a little and squinted. 'I'm sure I saw things moving…yes, you can just make them out. Riders, I think.' He pointed, away to their extreme right.

'Oh yes,' Gillian concurred. 'Well spotted, John.'

Dr Who's long-distance eyesight, despite his age, was as good as theirs. 'Dear me, yes.'

'Hard to tell how many there are. Wait till they get a bit closer,' advised John.

'They're not travelling very fast,' Gillian observed.

John laughed. 'That rules out the cavalry, then.'

The Doctor frowned at this levity. 'It'll be quite a time before they reach us, certainly, so I suggest we walk in their direction.'

'But Grandfather, do we want to meet them?' queried Gillian. 'They might not be friendly.'

'How else are we to ascertain exactly where we are and in what period of time, child?'

Gillian sighed inwardly. If it meant safety she would have been happy never knowing.

The trio set off.

'We've lost sight of them now,' complained John, after a fairly lengthy trek.

Gillian nodded wearily. 'It's because we've come down into this valley.'

'We'll soon pick them out again when we return to higher ground,' Dr Who stated confidently. 'Come, let us press on.'

Eventually, after an ankle-wrenching climb and another, shorter traipse John stood on a hill topped with sparse sand and a few miserable weeds struggling to survive. He gave a triumphant cry of 'I can see them!'

The Doctor and his granddaughter were still clambering up the hill. 'How far away are they now?' called Gillian.

'Not too far. There are four of them. On camels.'

John gazed at the quartet riding sedately along, outlined against the sky. Gillian arrived to stand beside him. 'One less and they might have been the three wise men.' She smiled reminiscently. 'Last year's nativity play at school was quite good, wasn't it?'

'With the wise men being directed to Bethlehem by a tinfoil star suspended from a piece of gym equipment?'

Gillian frowned. 'You always poke fun. Miss Leeson worked really hard to get it all done on time.'

'Checking everything with Matthew, Mark, Luke and John?'

Dr Who interposed. 'As a matter of fact, my dear boy, only Matthew mentions the wise men, or Magi.'

'I didn't know that, Grandfather.' John's voice held a genuine flicker of interest now.

'I wore a blue shawl and played a woman who took the last bed at the inn,' Gillian continued, undeterred by the interruption. 'You were the innkeeper,' she added, eyeing her brother censoriously.

John smirked. 'Yes. That was a laugh.'

'You stood by the doorway and whispered to everyone going in that it was fish and chips or nothing, take it or leave it, and if they wanted mushy peas it was sixpence extra. All that giggling started then. Joanna Coombes told Miss McGovern all about it the next day.'

'That sickening goody-goody and her snitching!' John exclaimed disgustedly.

'I couldn't stand her, myself,' Gillian admitted.

The Doctor tutted. 'All this chatter. Come along. Let us finish this – er – enjoyable little stroll. It will be interesting to meet our four travellers over there face to face and establish our whereabouts, will it not, h'mm?'

'It's all very confusing,' Gillian said to John in an undertone.

'You mean that they turned out to be the wise men despite there being an extra one?'

'Well it is, isn't it?'

'I'll say. What about the presents, for starters?'

'Presents? Oh, I see what you mean. The gold, frankincense and myrrh. Why are they part of the mystery? They must be in their travel bags.'

John smiled mischievously. 'But they carry a present each into the manger, don't they? I just wondered what the fourth one was taking. A selection box, perhaps.'

They all sat together on a groundsheet of stiff, coarsely woven brown cloth which had been rolled up and strapped to one of the resigned-looking camels. Nearby were several rocky hills, one much larger than the others, of a burnt orange colour. The four men, all ancient relics of yesteryear swathed in robes, had provided their new acquaintances with a portion of unleavened bread apiece, heavy and more than a little stale, and a swallow or two of wine, heavily watered and thus a shadow of its former self.

Balthasar was a broadly-built, venerable-looking character with appraising eyes that seemed as old as time. He wore a decorated leather collar that extended over his shoulders and chest.

'I am always pleased to break bread with fellow travellers,' he announced.

Caspar, his hair and beard grey and wispy, regarded the oddly-garbed newcomers in a restrained manner, though with a slight smile. 'It is less than a hardship to share with you on this occasion. This bread would turn the stomach of my camel.'

'He's quite right. It would,' John whispered to Gillian, making her laugh.

'Hush, children,' reprimanded Dr Who.

Melchior, an anxious-looking old fellow, spoke up in a quavery voice with, 'Surely a little privation matters nought when measured against the glorious event that approacheth.'

'I dare say,' Caspar riposted, 'but it has still been a long, hard journey with precious little shelter along the way. We've rested only in snatches and none of us are exactly in the first flush of youth either.' He looked at his piece of bread again, made an exclamation of disgust and tossed it over his shoulder. 'What a treat for the vultures. They'll not fly again after they've pecked away at that.'

Melchior was about to make an attempt to smooth things over when Balthasar chimed in gruffly. 'We ate well in Jerusalem. There was no shortage of fine dishes at the banquet King Herod invited us to.'

'The bread there wasn't crusty enough, though' Caspar persisted, less than seriously now.

'You're a miserable old grouch,' Balthasar rumbled at him, but with a tolerant look in his eyes as he berated his old colleague.

The Doctor addressed the fourth man, Aranagar, a wizened old specimen with a sunken face, friendly blue eyes and an easy smile. 'I take it that the four of you share but a single objective?'

Aranagar darted a penetrating glance at him. 'To witness the birth of the one of whom the prophets of old spoke,' he confirmed.

Dr Who smiled benevolently. 'A worthwhile pilgrimage indeed, then, lengthy and arduous as it has been for you all.'

Melchior interjected. 'Aranagar joined our party in Jerusalem. He heard of our quest and shared our eagerness.'

Aranagar's eyes had narrowed somewhat. 'Your grandchildren and yourself are but curious wanderers, you said, but presumably you do not always wander on foot and without travel bags or provisions?'

Both John and Gillian noticed Balthasar, Caspar and Melchior all turn towards the Doctor, obviously interested in his answer to the question posed by their colleague.

Dr Who, though taken aback at being quizzed himself, rose above the situation with aplomb. 'Oh dear me, no. In fact we have not done so on this occasion. Our transport awaits us a little way back. We had just secured it, having decided to pause for a time, when we noticed your group and on an impulse walked to meet you and exchange greetings.'

Balthasar nodded approvingly. 'That was civil of you, my friend.'

It was then that attention was abruptly drawn towards Melchior, who had begun to choke on a piece of the unappetising bread and rose unsteadily to his feet.

'There!' Caspar said triumphantly. 'I knew how it would be…'

Balthasar, Aranagar and Caspar soon surrounded their ancient travelling companion, whom they patted on the back and urged to take a swallow of his wine, which he did. John and Gillian stared, transfixed by the sudden drama. The wine only made matters worse. Dr Who was curiously slow to join in the attempts to resolve the crisis but was the one who did so by facing Melchior and bringing his knee up sharply into the old man's stomach. The bread, together with splatters of wine, flew out of his mouth.

'Well done, Grandfather,' congratulated John.

'We owe you a debt of gratitude,' Balthasar told the Doctor sincerely.

'Well, well, let us finish our wine, if not our bread, and then perhaps rest before we all move on again, h'mm?'

The four old men concurred with the suggestion and soon they had settled down for sleep. Dr Who stretched out as well and closed his eyes. The children, though not particularly keen on the idea of sleeping at first, found themselves wearier than they thought after their trek across plains and up and down hills and in the end succumbed to the arms of Morpheus…

When the Doctor woke him up John stared confusedly at an altered scenario. For one thing it was now dark, the inky sky a backdrop for what had to be 'yonder star', as he thought of it, glowing but palely and, surprisingly, seeming to convey the chill he suddenly felt in the marrow of his bones. It looked, he thought, like some mystical sword suspended in the heavens. The beauty he perceived as he regarded this legendary phenomenon was undeniable yet oddly indefinable. Mesmerised, he experienced difficulty in looking away. The depth and eloquence of his thoughts increased, for they were not those of the boy he was but of the man he would one day be…what was happening?...who was he?...young John or someone who didn't exist yet? A strange, welcoming lassitude began to creep over him, a comforting escape from the need to work it out…

Dr Who stepped in front of him, blocking his view. 'Wake up your, sister, boy,' he snapped.

The interruption dissipated the cocoon of odd thoughts and feelings and John was soon himself again. It was then that he fully assimilated the other changes around him. Balthasar, Caspar and Melchior were nowhere to be seen and the four tethered camels had gone as well. Aranagar remained, slumped against a rock and still deep in sleep. Or was he dead?

'Quickly,' urged Dr Who, breaking into John's thoughts again.

Hastily recalling what his grandfather had told him to do, John shook Gillian awake. The girl stared about her, as bemused as he had been.

'We must be on our way,' the Doctor informed them. 'Come along.'

John indicated Aranagar. 'What about him?'

'He'll sleep for quite a while yet, thanks to the sleeping powder I slipped into his wine,' Dr Who explained, with a wintry smile. 'I always carry a few, as on occasion it's imperative that one gets enough rest.'

Something clicked in John's mind. 'You put it in while Melchior was choking!'

'It was a fortuitous distraction,' the Doctor commented.

Gillian glanced at Aranagar. 'But why did you do it?'

'He joined the three pilgrims in Jerusalem. He just had to be an undercover emissary of King Herod's.'

'Where are the others now?' Gillian asked.

'Where they should be, my dear child. On their way to Bethlehem.'

The first light of dawn had appeared by the time they arrived back at the grove where the _Tardis _was. Dr Who ushered the children, who he had warned continually during the walk to avoid looking at the star, into the trees. He then ignored his own advice, pausing at the edge of the grove to turn and risk a brief final view of it. About to resolutely detach his gaze, he saw the sword-like shape twist, become an indistinct blur, then clarify into four intersecting strands. The small star at the centre was of an eye-aching white. Abruptly, the strands were bathed in a deep glow of a sinister, gaseous – looking red. The Doctor staggered as a boiling, volcanic fury was conveyed to him via his sight. Its terrible heat surged through his body. He crumpled to the ground, but in doing so broke the contact between his eyes and the enraged, vengeful entity in the early morning sky.

As he lay recovering, he chided himself for setting aside his own good sense. Like Lot's wife, he had foolishly looked back. The ferocious attack on him had undoubtedly been punishment for his interference in detaching Aranagar from the party of old men.

Had the revealing transformation of that mysterious intelligence been visible only to him? He thought it likely, since Balthasar, Caspar and Melchior were still being guided by the star. To Bethlehem at least, he thought, and smiled grimly to himself. His further intervention in counselling those ancient travellers to return home from there by an alternative route and to look no more at the star must as yet be unknown to that cunning enemy. It was fortunate, he reflected, that he had always wondered why a 'yonder star' with good intentions should have included Jerusalem and a visit to Herod in the itinerary of the Three Wise Men.

Dr Who was feeling quite himself again as he unlocked the _Tardis _door and beckoned the children to follow him into the police box. Gillian was the last to enter and as she did so she glanced back and spotted, in the light shining from within, a lizard perched on a leaf. Hastily she slammed the door behind her. She had never cared for lizards.

Which, considering their next destination, was most unfortunate.

A sudden rush of wind, disturbing the still leaves and frightening away the lizard, and the _Tardis_ was gone.


End file.
